


Lady Machiavelli

by raileht



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:59:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raileht/pseuds/raileht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew the voice in her head was such a bitch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Machiavelli

She made sure not to flinch as the door slammed, as she expected it would. She also made sure to focus her eyes on the wall at the far corner of the room, if only to make sure there would be no chances of eyes _accidentally_ meeting. She made sure, as she always did, for that was who Diane Lockhart was.

At the age of seven, when she decided she was going to get a puppy one way or another, she made sure to perfect every single test she encountered, made sure her bedroom was always clean, beds made and dirty clothes in the hamper. She made sure she was ready for church every Sunday on the dot, have her Bible at the ready and behaved the way her mother had taught her how. To ensure that there were no reasons to be found that she should _not_ be allowed a puppy, she ate her vegetables and cleaned her plate at each and every meal.

That summer, not too long before she turned eight, she got her first puppy. A spunky West Highland white terrier she named Aris after Aristophanes. For nine years, he was her best friend.

When she was ten, after her grandparents promised they were coming to her piano recital, she made sure to practice everyday and often pled with her teacher to teach her more, longer, and listen to every try then made him point out any mistake and asked advice after advice. She practiced even when not in front of the piano and during class. Her fingers tapped, unknowingly, even as she slept at night.

On a beautiful Friday morning, her parents and grandparents sat proudly at the very front as she flawlessly played Bach's Minuet in G. Her beloved grandfather had been so proud and he told her so.

Jumping forward eight years, the day after the New Year began she got caught kissing her first boyfriend, Michael Parker, outside their home. Upon being confronted by her father's disapproval and for the first time having him be truly angry at her, she broke it off. He'd been the first boy to ever tell her he liked her, that she was beautiful and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He'd been the first boy she ever kissed.

She'd always been Daddy's little girl. She'd have done anything and everything to make sure it stayed that way forever.

As she had desperately hoped, her father drove with her to the station a few days later, kissed her goodbye with a smile on his face and handed her a second Christmas gift. It had been a beautiful tennis bracelet he'd had made just for her. She hugged him tight, nearly in tears after spending the last few days of her break terrified that she'd done something unforgivable. He held her tight, told her he loved her, would always love her and no boy was ever going to change that.

To this day, she still wore the bracelet from time to time. She never saw Michael again.

After spending four years in college and graduating at the top of her class, she proceeded to law school. Despite the negative opinions and discouragements she'd heard from the people around her, she ploughed right in. Even back then, she _knew_ there were glass ceilings that she _had_ to break. For three years she slaved on, striving not only to make good grades, but to get to the very top. She'd faced different kinds of hell but didn't let them stop her. She'd been a woman on a mission and even the end of the world couldn't have stopped her.

Sacrifices had to be made along the way—free time, friends, relationships and other types of teenage rites of passage. She experienced a few and missed some, but it didn't bother her. She had goals, she had plans and her family had hopes and expectations of her. She was a Lockhart after all.

Along the way, she stumbled but never allowed herself to fail. Diane Lockhart was going to be a lawyer, not just an imitation of her father but a real lawyer and a damned good one at that. She was going to make sure people knew who she was by what she _could_ do and not just by her name. She made sure she was going to let the world know, even if it killed her.

_You bitch_ , an angry familiar voice hissed in her head. _You cold hearted bitch._

She'd been called worst, but as she sat there, alone now after her team had finished packing up the things they'd used for the deposition, she gripped her pen tightly in her fist. The voice continued relentlessly, imitating the way she went after guilty scumbags and dirty bastards on the stand like a vicious dog with a bone.

_You knew what you were doing_ , the voice accused. _You shameless, soulless, manipulative_ bitch _…_

'In what other ways do your home-spun investigative methods clash with FBI standards?'

She'd seen the wheels turning in his head, witnessed firsthand the suspicion then the realization that followed as he stared at her, not in surprise or in disbelief, but rather in acceptance as he finally saw her for what she was—

_A conniving, scheming, opportunistic, two-faced—_

—a _lawyer_ , a damned good one and she had fought her case against him, effectively rendering his testimony useless now that she established that—

_His job is crap. Or at least, that part of it was. That little crime scene remake in a barn in the middle of nowhere can't and won't stand up in court, at least, not in one you're in. Not too bad, Lockhart, you haven't lost your touch. Bravo. Isn't that wonderful?_

—he hadn't followed protocol and regulations, therefore endangering any experiment he did basing on the standards he'd failed to meet. She did her job and pointed out the facts.

_Oh, bullshit. He gave you an olive branch and you didn't just snap it in two, you trampled it, spat on it and torched it into nothing. You knew, even if you won't admit, Miss Denial, that you took that camera with you for a specific reason. No way in hell that was for personal pictures. You knew what the hell you were doing. He's just the poor sap who fell for it. Poor bastard, didn't even see it coming…_

'…I think you should testify for the State's Attorney's Office. I won't hesitate to argue against you.'

She wondered if he'll think that by then she'd already figured out what to do, how she was going to use that moment to her advantage. Did he think she said it because she already knew how to defeat him? Or would he give her the benefit of the doubt and think she'd said it because she didn't want to hinder his job integrity? That she actually meant what she said?

_Don't do naïve, Diane, it doesn't suit you._

'It's because of my feelings for you…'

_Oh, boo-hoo. Bite me._

What about him? He had looked _so_ sincere when he said those words. And it made his _confession_ seem even more genuine because he _looked_ as if he wasn't afraid to mean it. Was he being naïve, telling her that? Showing her that experiment? Did he even consider that she might use it against him? Did he think she wasn't capable? She didn't become one of the top litigators in Chicago for nothing after all. Was it about trust, spontaneity or he really just couldn't help it?

_Maybe he mistook paradise for a pair of legs…?_

Or was he testing her, just to see what kind of a person she was. But she couldn't picture him jeopardizing a case just to play head games.

_Well, he jeopardized his case by inviting you there. See? Blame's on him. The world is right once again. Not quite as mature as one would expect of the (in)famous Diane Lockhart, but who gives a damn? You won._

She wondered what exactly he expected to gain out of leaving himself so _vulnerable_ to her, showing her a weakness she hadn't even perceived before this whole thing began. In her mind, prior to getting his call to come to his farm, he was _just_ a crush, a passing fancy.

God knew after her recent gamble and subsequent loss with Malcolm Overby, she wasn't about to get burnt so soon after. Plus, add to the fact that they'd just lost Jonas Stern _and_ a third of their business as well as the possibility of the old bastard (she respected him but at the same time reserved the right to call him names in her mind, especially now after everything's been said and done) coming back for the rest, the pending loss of clients and employees was enough to take up most of her free time, if she ever had any to begin with.

She hadn't even been able to spend enough time with poor Justice who she'd been leaving at the doggy day care for the past few days since Stern's departure. She'd been neglecting her faithful furry companion, what could she do with a new man in her life? As far as she'd been concerned, Kurt McVeigh was just a crush. Nothing serious.

_Well, except for the sex, right? But look how well_ that _turned out._

After the case with the coed that led to her somewhat brief _association_ with McVeigh being found out—the date, the one night together (she refuses to call it that common tawdry term) and the gifts in between—that had been it for her, it was over. He left, she stayed, went on with her life and dealt with the heat of Will Gardner's somewhat self-righteous claims and rants about the _incident_ then moved on. Goodbye, cowboy. Hello normalcy.

She had pushed him out of her mind. There was no use in dwelling on something that really could not be anything more than it was. They had a good time, but she had the real world to come back to and _he_ was not a part of it, not really.

Law was a _very_ demanding mistress and through the years, Diane could count the number of serious relationships she's had in one hand. She'd made sacrifices for her career and success, something she was not ashamed to admit or acknowledge. She had long ago accepted that there was a great possibility she was never going to be married, or have kids and live the proverbial American dream.

But looking back on her success, the things she's accomplished, the doors she's opened, the difference she'd made and whatever else she could do, she was willing to accept that it was a good deal. She'd done her share in life and did what she wanted, that was enough. So what if her dreams and goals weren't as common as every woman's? She reserved the right to be what she wanted to be and that was to be a lawyer, not a housewife somewhere in suburbia with manicured lawns, two-point five kids, driving a mini-van and waiting for hubby to come home after a day at the office.

She'd made decisions and accepted the outcome a long time ago and prided herself for not looking back or dwelling. There was no reason to do either because she was content, happy even.

Then Marlboro Man came along— _now_ , of all times in her life where everything was practically crumbling. She'd suffered enough losses in the past few months—Malcolm, Stern, almost becoming a judge, security about Jeffrey Spellman (that son of a b—), a part of her sanity and God knew what else—this attraction to the very Republican ( _forgive me, Daddy_ ) McVeigh was not someone she had wanted to pile on that already regrettably long list. What was next, her career?

_Jesus Christ! Watch your mouth, woman._

Why couldn't they just leave that one night where it belonged? Why did he have to come back, practically spill his guts and make her choose?

_Yeah, sure, he_ made _you. Nice._

'You don't need to talk like that.'

_Oh, now you're remembering the date. Cute. He made you laugh…among other things._

'I do need to talk like that because that's how I talk.'

_Oh, how you hated the way he could see right through you, Diane. And here you thought you were such a mystery. The beer-drinking cowboy figured you out and he didn't even need a goddamned map._

He did see through her, the way he somehow knew that if he sat there and waited for her to babble on and reveal herself more than she ever would if he actually asked her questions, the way he tilted his head to the side, teasing her to not let the silence settle, the way he figured out how to say 'Yep' to make her laugh. He figured her out and, by God, how she hated him for it.

Kurt McVeigh, Republican, cowboy, forensic expert and Sarah Palin supporter ( _please, Daddy, please forgive me_ ) who actually bought Hilary Clinton's Living History for a whopping _fifty cents_ figured out the formidable, man-eating, gun-hating bleeding heart feminist liberal top litigator Diane Lockhart.

_He made you laugh, he made you forget, he made you giggle, made you stutter like you_ never _have before in your life. He knew how to get to you, just like that. My, my, how it freaked you out, right, Diane? Nobody knew, of course…but you did…and it scared the hell out of you._

'I want to stay, but three generations of Democratic ancestors are screaming out in protest.'

What would her father say? The charismatic Daniel Archer Lockhart II, feared, revered and something akin to legendary for the people of Illinois. He could have been a ringleader in politics, gone on to take a seat in the Senate, but he preferred his cozy seat in Chicago in his own firm with his family and truly preferred being a lawyer more than being a politician. He was a great supporter of the Democrats and candidates sought his support and endorsements and he willingly gave to causes he believed in.

_He was a god among men to you, wasn't he? How you adored dear old dad. What would he say now? A_ Republican _for his only daughter? A_ Lockhart _entertaining a relationship with a gun-shooting, back alley-abortion supporting, Devil-incarnate backing cowboy…_

Diane had dared try to follow her father's footsteps and, admittedly, modeled her future to his life. Often she felt herself wondering if she made the cut. She'd been an only child and so she'd felt it her obligation to do not just her father proud, but as well as her ancestors. She was a Lockhart and that was something to be proud of, something to strive to be worthy of.

_Oh, and look, naughty girl, sharing a bed with a Republican_ and _actually getting a gun (in not so legal ways at that) — who knew there was a rebel in you just dying to get out? Daddy dearest must be spinning in his grave. Can you imagine?_

'Objection. Plaintiff's council has an ongoing relationship with the expert witness.'

_Public knowledge too. See? It was only right that you destroy him. He wasn't good for you. Remember Daddy? What would he think? A Republican! Of all things, Diane, a_ Republican _...tsk, tsk. What about your reputation? It's bad enough a courtroom full of people found out about your…dalliance with the expert witness. What did Will say with such emotion? It was_ **sex**. _It was enough to drive Will Gardner into a rage, the hypocritical little—_

It didn't matter. She was angry with herself then as well, not just for giving in but for everything in general. She'd never been what one would call 'a woman with questionable virtue' because she'd always been careful with her relationships. Diane had never been involved in scandals or tabloid-worthy tales. Never had she been so careless until Kurt McVeigh.

_He made you lose control, made you lose yourself, your inhibitions, those years of training under your father's watchful proud eyes. He got to you, hook, line and sinker. When was the last time you felt that way? When was the last time any man made you lose it like that? The Ice Queen, the unbreakable Lockhart, the inimitable brass…when was the last time anyone made you drop your defenses like that? And don't say that rat bastard Malcolm Overby, the stupid (old) man whore._

Why? She wondered. Of all men, why him? What did he have? How did he figure her out? It was a mystery to her and she sat there, scribbling nonsense just to have something to do as to not turn into stone. The man was a contradiction, almost so simple and plain at times, there was nothing left to read only to suddenly turn mysterious, surprising her in ways she didn't and/or couldn't anticipate.

_He's everything you don't need. He's ba-a-a-a-d for you._

She blinked a few times—why did her eyes feel funny?—as she continued to scribble in the empty room. Not for the first time, she was glad to be alone.

'Do you need a minute, Mr. McVeigh?'

_You could have given him the whole damned day, even a week and he would still wind up in the same place—stuck and royally screwed. He knew it was over by then. You_ know _defeat, Diane, you feed off from that on a daily basis. You triumphed and you didn't even need the photos._

And his eyes had grown hard (or is it hard _er_ ) then, right? He'd seen what she'd done and probably realized what he had _let_ her do. He was a highly intelligent man and he must have realized what happened and what had led him to getting his testimony steamrolled by her so easily. His eyes spoke volumes, and for once, the silence of the cowboy did not provide the curtain he so easily hid behind.

_You did your job and if your employees stay true to form, your little showdown will be all over the firm within minutes. Technology can be such help these days, especially now. They can't touch you again, Diane, they're going to know you're not losing your edge and they're going to_ know _he's not a weakness. Your reputation has been restored. Diane Lockhart does not have a weakness._

'You have feelings for me?'

_After today…? You obviously don't have to ask again._

Her hand stopped moving as she blinked again, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. She still had the rest of the day, the rest of their case. She needed to stay focused…

_He came, he saw… you conquered._

Who knew the voice in her head was such a bitch?

_Bravo, Miss Lockhart, bravo._


End file.
